


Begotten

by FreshBrains



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, F/F, Immortality, Jealousy, Physical Abuse, Power Play, Pregnancy, Pseudo-Incest, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Threats of Violence, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:45:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2804891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That’s always been the struggle with them—Rachel does the pushing and pulling while Sarah just tries to stay in one piece.</p><p>(Or, Rachel was the original clone and Sarah came after her).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Begotten

**Author's Note:**

  * For [piggy09](https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/gifts).



> I'm very familiar with piggy09's writing style, and I admire it so, so I hope I did this pairing justice. As far as canon goes--the clones (minus Rachel) are in their early twenties and have always known about each other, and Sarah has just found out she's pregnant with Kira. Everything else is up to the readers!

Two days after Sarah found out she was pregnant, Cosima called her to tell her that Helena didn’t come home from church that afternoon.  Sarah knows where to go to find her.  Every time Helena goes missing, Sarah knows where to go.

“Where is she?” Sarah stands in the doorway, the glass walls and windows making her feel cold down to her bones.  A puddle forms on the soft-carpeted floor from her dripping hair.

“Sit down with me, Sarah.” Rachel curls her legs beneath her on the sofa, the mauve silk of her robe shushing against her soft skin.  Sarah knows the feeling of that skin before anything else; she knows it because it’s _her_ skin, and her skin is Rachel’s, and they never feel far apart even when Sarah is running far, far away.

Sarah closes her eyes.  She can’t allow herself to see Rachel like that; can’t see her soft and pliant on the sofa with her short hair still damp from her shower.  It would be too easy to sink her teeth into that smooth familiar skin and spill blood across the champagne-colored carpet.  But it would also be too easy to sink next to her and let Rachel gentle her into submission.

Sarah has never known quite which side she leans to more.  That’s always been the struggle with them—Rachel does the pushing and pulling while Sarah just tries to stay in one piece.

Rachel pats the couch cushion, eyebrow raised.  “Sarah,” she says, a disappointed lilt in her voice, “ _please_.  Don’t be difficult.”

The only thing Sarah has ever truly been is difficult, but she takes a slow step into the room anyways, boots making a muddy imprint on the carpet.  She stares at Rachel, dares her to make the reprimand, but Rachel just holds her gaze.  “If I sit down next to you, will you tell me where my sister is?”

Rachel’s face darkens like it always does when Sarah says that word—only when that word isn’t directed at _her_.  “We’ve talked about this.  That girl is not your sister.  _I’m_ your sister.”

Sarah swallows hard, still skirting around the sofa like a stalking animal.  Rachel always calls her a panther.  Rachel was more of a lioness—bloody-mouthed, queen of her lair.  “Fine.  Will you tell me where _Helena_ is?”

Rachel sighs, makes a _tut_ noise with a flick of her tongue on her teeth.  “Darling, really.  Just sit down and stop being so…dramatic.” She’s always been so much older with that bored, detached voice of a tired schoolteacher. 

When Sarah looks into Rachel’s eyes, there’s nothing looking back.  It’s like looking into polished marble or the intricate gears of a clock—beautiful and engaging, but ultimately fake.  Sarah doesn’t know what the scientists did exactly, but she knows they made Rachel into something not-woman, not-human, something that would never _stop_.  Something that existed long before Sarah and would exist long after she was gone.  It scares Sarah.  She sits down on the sofa, as far away from Rachel as possible.  “Do you have her?”

Rachel cocks her head to the side, her blond hair cascading in a smooth angle.  She reaches up with her cool fingers and tucks a strand of Sarah’s rain-frizzed, dark hair behind her ear.  “You’ve changed so much, dear.  You look older.”  She smiles when her fingers find the blond streak in Sarah’s hair.  “I like this very much.”

“Needed a change,” Sarah says.  But really, the streak appeared on its own volition—the roots went blond and never went back.  The same dull honey color as Rachel’s hair.  She wishes it was more like Helena’s hair—bone-bleached and stark.

Rachel keeps smiling, but her smile never reaches those cold eyes—it’s always thin-lipped and tight.  “Soon I won’t be able to recognize you.  My Sarah.  My only sister.”

Sarah closes her eyes for a moment, letting Rachel smooth down her mussed hair, make her presentable.  Sarah loves her siblings—Alison, Cosima, Tony, and Helena, her special _sestra_ , the one who needs her most.  The one Rachel loathes the most.  To Rachel, they’re all extras, the ones who don’t matter.  The ones she doesn’t approve of.  “Please, Rachel.  _Please._ ”  She wishes she didn’t have to resort to begging.  Rachel loves when she begs.

“Why do you want her so much, Sarah?” Rachel shifts on the couch, sliding towards Sarah.  The silk of her robe slithers like a snake.  “What can she offer you?”

Sarah looks down at the carpet, at her old, dirty boots.  She and Helena had a hard history, but Helena knew what it was like to be trapped.  Only _her_ captor was killed—Sarah would never be so lucky.  “What can _I_ offer _you_ , Rachel?” She’s never asked this before.  She’s been too afraid of the answer.

Rachel laughs under her breath and slides a hand down Sarah’s thigh, squeezing the hard muscle, her long nails biting into the fabric of her jeans.  Her breath hitches, warm and aroused, and Sarah shudders—not in revulsion or pleasure, but a confusing mixture of the two.  “You’re a part of me.  You’re the one who came after me, Sarah.”  She rakes her eyes down Sarah’s body, the parts where her tee shirt slings to her chest, her jeans to the curves of her hips.  “Bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh.”

Sarah nods, slow, careful not to let the tears fall.  She’s heard this before, will hear it again.  Rachel was the first of them all, created years before by fearful scientists who never thought their idea would work, never thought their procedures would hold.  But then this not-girl came out of their lab, grew in their trays and tubes and chemicals, this _not_ -person who went against nature itself—or so Helena used to say.  “We’re all a part of you, Rachel.  Why _me_?”

Rachel’s hand comes flying out, striking Sarah hard on the side of her face.  Her ears ring and she blinks back into focus, her temple throbbing.  Before Sarah can fight back, Rachel has her pinned to the couch, straddling her thighs with the silk robe fanning out on either side.  “They’re _scraps_ , Sarah.  Extra parts.  They mean nothing to us.”  She raises her hand and hits Sarah again, but Sarah shields the blow with her arm.

She thinks Rachel might kiss her, might stab her, and before she can check herself, she blurts out, “I’m _pregnant_.”

Rachel just stares, marble eyes glossy.  She shakes out her hair, puts her human mask back on.  “I know.”  Her hand moves down below Sarah’s waist to press against her stomach, low, where there’s a child growing where there wasn’t one only weeks before.  “I know everything about you, Sarah.”  Her hand is gentle, much gentler than any of the other times she’s touched Sarah.  “You’re the only one.”

Sarah has suspected it for a long time, long before she found out she was pregnant…Cosima never got her period, Alison and her husband were considering adoption.  They never talked about it, but Sarah _knew_.  “You can never have her, Rachel.  _Ever_.” She has no idea if the child will be a boy or a girl, if she’ll even _have_ the child—she’s been pregnant before—but she knows it will never belong to Rachel.

Rachel doesn’t move off Sarah’s lap, just sits and stares.  Her mouth opens slightly in something like reverence, lips damp.  “I’m always going to be here, Sarah.  You won’t.”

Sarah leans her head back against the sofa, feeling so exhausted, like she’ll have this conversation again and again for the rest of her life.  She’s enveloped with Rachel’s expensive, delicate perfume; it makes her want to vomit.  “Where’s Helena?”

“At Felix’s,” Rachel says, sliding down to capture Sarah’s lips in a kiss.  She presses her body all along the length of Sarah’s, cat-lithe, breasts pushing against Sarah’s.  Her lips are the warmest parts of her, always have been.  She takes control of the kiss but it still feels mechanical, and Sarah yields to it, mouth opening against Rachel’s.  “I never laid a hand on her.”

“This was never about Helena,” Sarah whispers, lips brushing Rachel’s when the pull apart.

Rachel breathes heavy and slow.  She presses her fingers to the red mark on Sarah’s cheek where she slapped her.  “It never is, darling.”


End file.
